Sooth
by hackneyed words
Summary: A parody touching on commonly used cliches in Jill/Wesker fan fiction.


**Author's Note: **If you find yourself saying, "Hey! I've used this in a story of mine..." please know that this is not a personal attack on anyone. This is simply a parody of what seems to be recurring themes in Resident Evil fan fiction. More specifically, Jill/Wesker oriented fan fiction. Take it with a grain of salt, but also know I'm not completely kidding, either. It is a rant in the form of a parody.**  
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**Chapter 1**

Jill wished she could break free of Wesker's control, but the P30 was too strong. Just then she remembered the crush she'd had on him back in the STARS days. She began to blush in shame.

"Obviously the author has been copypasting from a thesaurus here because they can't portray, let alone match, Wesker's intellect." Growled Wesker, cupping her chin, like he ends up doing in every single fan fic.

Jill wanted so badly to retort, but alas, the most she could do was clench her fists. Wesker, sensing the woman's inner struggle and nonsensical, teenager-like angst thanks to the author, smirked. Then he smirked again, and once more just to be sure. Wesker couldn't recall why he had agreed to accept the smirk quota of ten thousand smirks per paragraph, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't fulfill it.

Wesker smirked, this time in a much more sinister way. "Dear heart, how does it feel to be called what I called Claire that one time in Code: Veronica and is now somehow a staple of my vocabulary?"

Jill stayed quiet, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Answer me!" Wesker demanded in an emotion filled rage, even though the author has been attempting to show what an unemotional, cold-hearted villain he is.

"How does it feel? It feels like, depending on the author, we should either fuck awkwardly right now and use the word 'penetrated' a lot and reveal that the author's never been laid, or we should fade to black and awake in bed together while I tell the reader how much I really hate you. But the sex is awesome so I'm left on the fence about being raped to crumbs." Jill said, afraid of what was to come from her captor.

**Chapter 2**

_This chapter is a songfic_

_Every few paragraphs the author likes to_

_Paste in some shitty lyrics_

_They're too lazy to add artsy detail themselves_

_So they borrow from MCR_

Jill rolled over in the bed. _His _bed. She was disgusted with herself, how she was too weak to escape, how she was letting Chris down... but most of all: how she liked it. The night they had spent together was something the Jill of the past would have killed for, but the present Jill would rather die.

Wesker arose from his slumber. "I suppose we chose to fade to black. That's good, my true character approves because he'd rather have Excella pump his ass with a sandpaper covered dildo than make _love _with Jill Valentine."

Jill smiled faintly, the first smile in years. "I... love you."

Wesker flashed her a smirk as he left the room. _She's playing right into my illogical plan, _he thought to himself. _It's funny because, what with P30, why should I make an effort to earn her trust? This plan is brilliantly redundant and unneeded!_

_Here come some more lyrics_

_They're really sad and moody_

_I guess they're supposed to make the reader_

_Care about the characters_

_Because the author sure can't_

Jill looked at herself in the mirror. She looked awful; pale and drained of her optimistic attitude. She traced her fingers across the switchblade she'd found. In two slashes in quick succession, she fell to the floor. Jill Valentine died at 11:30 PM (not that you're the coroner or anything, I just thought you might be interested, I mean, my writing is so entrancing and all).

It had been a while since their last boring-to-read encounter, so Wesker decided to check up on his puppet. When he finally found her, collapsed on his floor, he was at a loss at what to do. _This is so odd, _he thought. _Wasn't I supposed to be faking my love for her? Could it be... I let myself become emotionally invested? Only one way to find out, and it's a very logical and reasonable way._

He pulled her body onto the bed and hugged her close to his chest. He couldn't remember what he was accomplishing by doing this, but the author assured him it was quite the touching moment.

It was then that he finally noticed the message she had left in her own blood on the mirror.

_I'm sorry._

Wesker began to chuckle. He looked at the reader. "What? Sorry for what? This sad excuse for prose, I'm hoping. I've played along enough. I refuse to act as someone emotionally weak, like that of Chris Redfield."

Jill suddenly reanimated. "You're back in character! Is it over?"

She peeled herself off of Wesker and jumped out of the bed. "I do hate you, for the record. You want any sort of _loving _again and you're going to have to use up a vat full of P30 as well as restrain me."

Wesker waved her off. "That is the way I prefer to _love _people indeed, but I wouldn't dream of touching Chris' sloppy seconds."

"Good." Said Jill.

"Good." Repeated Wesker.

"Good!" Chimed Paul W.S. Anderson, Capcom in tow.

Wesker gripped the side of the bed in horror. "Jill, get out NOW!"

It was too late. Capcom waved its hand and Wesker was immediately obliterated by lava inexplicably pouring from the ceiling.

"Well, that's not so bad I guess." Jill laughed.

Paul scoffed. "Capcom, are you really going to let such a fan favorite be untouched?"

Capcom waved its hand once more. A few seconds past, yet nothing had happened.

"Are you sure y-" Jill clasped her hands over her mouth, shocked at the sound that had come out. "I... I, was that, was that Microsoft Sam's voice?"

"Look in the mirror, Jill." Said Paul.

TO BE CONTINUED IN RESIDENT EVIL: REVELATIONS (subtitle: Ruining the Series Worse Than Any Fan Fiction Could)!


End file.
